


Nightmares Not Found

by Closeted_Bookworm



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, And they were ROOMMATES but it's platonic, Blood and Violence, Dark, Forgive the author pls, Horror, M/M, Rated For Violence, Thriller, Torture, Unhappy Ending, We love our murderous psychopath but George sure doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closeted_Bookworm/pseuds/Closeted_Bookworm
Summary: Dream and George have been living together for a few months, and you could say they know each other pretty well. They think they do, anyways. Dream has George's behavior down to an exact science, and George is confident in his knowledge of what makes Dream tick. He has nothing left to learn about his roommate, surely.But a serial killer is on the loose somewhere in the city, and his friend has been very invested in the whole affair...
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 135
Kudos: 355
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here with my own take on the Psycho Dream AU, so buckle up, folks. You saw the tags, I'll be giving you what you signed up for. I won't break your heart (probably), but I might stab a hole in it, and a few other things as well. ;)
> 
> This is pre-written, so don't worry about the incomplete symbol, the rest of it does exist :)
> 
> This is about their Minecraft personalities, NOT the real people, hence why they call each other by their usernames. Enjoy :)

George and Dream sat at the kitchen table, enjoying breakfast together. Dream was smothering a waffle in syrup and nursing a scalding cup of coffee with a mildly burned tongue, and George had his nose buried in the newspaper, a half-eaten bagel left forgotten on the table in front of him. 

“I still don’t understand why you insist on reading that,” Dream grouched, stirring some cream into his drink in an effort to cool it down. “Who reads the actual newspaper anymore? You’re just wasting money on the subscription.”

“I find news anchors as annoying and bitter as you when you haven’t had caffeine yet.” 

Dream looked highly offended. “My coffee may be bitter, but I am not. I prefer the term ‘hangry,’ thank you very much,” He peered over his friend’s shoulder at the headline. “So, what’s the big news today? ‘Man found dead in abandoned apartment.’ Yikes, that’s a bland headline for such a big story.”

“Yeah, especially considering the rest of it. You know that serial killer they’ve been reporting on for the past couple months? The Nightmare Killer?”

“You of all people know I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on. Of course the one morning I wait to check my news feed is the day something happens,” Dream griped.

“It’s another victim from him.” He flipped back a page and showed him the picture that went with the article, a gruesome photo of the face of the corpse, which had its eyes gouged out and replaced with large black marbles, a bloody, macabre smile carved across his cheeks. Dream grunted in surprise, shoving another bite of waffle into his mouth. 

“Surprised they let them print that. How’d they even get it?”

“Says it got sent in anonymously. Maybe the killer likes the publicity,” He glanced with vague disgust at Dream, who was swallowing bites of waffle with great gusto. “That doesn’t put you off your food?”

“Eh, doesn’t really bother me. You forget I deal with blood every day for a living,” Dream pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. EMT. You may be jaded, but stuff like that gives me the shivers.” He put the newspaper down and picked up his bagel, then changed his mind and set it back on the plate, grimacing. Dream smirked at him and took a gulp of coffee, then nearly spewed it across the table as his tongue suffered a fresh burn. He coughed, face reddening, and George snickered. 

“Serves you right, now we’re both uncomfortable. Hey, does this name sound familiar to you?” He pointed at a specific line in the article. “It says the victim’s name was ‘Skeppy,’ and I swear I’ve heard it somewhere before.”

Dream furrowed his brow and thought, taking a more careful sip of his drink. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

“It’s a pretty unusual name.”

“I mean, I’m friends with someone who’s named Techno, and my name’s Dream; I don’t think Skeppy is that far fetched.”

“True,” He glanced at the clock and jumped up from the table. “Drat, I’m running late again. Would you put my plate in the sink?” His roommate nodded, reaching over the table for the abandoned newspaper. George snatched up the last of his bagel in a napkin and scrambled for his keys and coat, making travel calculations in his head. 

“Have a good day at the flower daycare,” Dream teased.

“It’s a plant nursery and you know it,” he grumbled, tugging on his boots and pulling out his phone to check for traffic jams and accidents. Yesterday he’d been delayed because some silly teenager decided to drop his vinyl records in the middle of a four lane highway and refused to move until every single one had been safely returned to its cover. He had turned the whole road into a veritable war zone of honking horns and frustrated commuters. No freak accidents were slowing him down today.

As he ran out the door, Dream studied the photo in the newspaper with an absently pleased look on his face, tracing a steady finger along the bloody smile slashed into the victim’s face as he languidly stirred his cooling coffee.

\---

George pulled into the parking lot of the apartment just as the sun was starting to set and the streetlights were coming on, and he sighed in relief as he removed the key from the ignition. His knees were aching from crouching down all day taking care of plants, and he couldn’t wait to get inside and take a load off. He grabbed a brown paper bag from work off the passenger seat and slammed the car door, clicking the button on his key fob and grinning as his car chirped happily to let him know it was locked.

He walked up the four flights of stairs to his apartment, wishing for the thousandth time his building had an elevator. He fumbled with his key ring as he walked down the hallway, separating his house key from the jumble. He let himself in with a sigh of relief and walked over to the pantry, tucking his brown bag onto the top shelf and pulling out the stuff for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He hummed quietly to himself as he prepared the food, the sound echoing around the empty kitchen. Dream wasn’t home yet; he usually got back an hour or so after George did. He rather enjoyed the time he spent with the apartment to himself. His roommate was great company, but the silence was a welcome change from the music he liked to play almost constantly and the continuous clamor of the machines at work. He liked to turn off every light except the one over the kitchen table and settle in with a book, a sandwich, and maybe a cup of hot chocolate to unwind from the day. 

He plopped down in his chair with dinner and immersed himself in his current novel, a spy thriller full of treachery, deception, and exciting plot twists that were entirely predictable. It wasn’t the most intelligent thing he’d ever read, but it was thoroughly entertaining, and he hoped to finish it by tomorrow night so he could start something else. He periodically took bites of his sandwich as he flipped pages, and before he knew it, it was eleven o’clock. He glanced towards the front door, suddenly realizing Dream still wasn’t home. He should have been back over an hour ago at the latest. He shrugged and set his book aside. It wouldn’t be the first time his friend had stayed out late without telling him. 

A sharp beep from his phone made him jump, and he looked over to see a text notification lighting up his screen. He reached over and opened it, scanning the brief message from Quackity, one of his co-workers.

_You said your roommate was obsessed with Nightmare Killer stuff, right? I found this site the other day, you should show it to him._

He had shared the link to below the text. It led to an old forum site that had been converted into a hub for all things Nightmare, from links to various news stories to conspiracy theories to psychological analysis of his behavior patterns. 

He shot off a quick reply to Quackity, then sat back and started to scroll through the page, rolling his eyes at the most far-fetched proposals. Dream was going to love this, assuming he hadn’t already found it. Seeing all the headlines journalists came up with as they reported on the investigation was surprisingly enjoyable. One caught his eye, and he did a double take, surprised. One of the titles was “THE NIGHTMARE OVER?” and it was from a news station he knew was reliable. Maybe there’d been a new development in the case. 

He clicked on it, scanning the top of the page for the date published and finding it was written earlier that evening. 

_A major police investigation was closed today as detectives discovered the man behind the so-called “Nightmare Killings.” This series of murders has captured the eye of the public in recent months due to the gruesome nature of the deaths and their disturbingly exact timing, the victims always killed on the thirteenth of every other month. The investigation surrounding the murders had been hitting dead ends for some time, and some believed the Nightmare would never be caught, but detectives made a breakthrough with the most recent death and have finally made an arrest._

_“He got cocky, and made a mistake,” Sapnap, chief investigator in the case, told our interviewer. “The evidence discovered at the latest crime scene, along with the photos of the body the killer provided to the press and media, were enough for us to track him down.”_

_While much of the information pertaining to the string of murders is still confidential, we can finally declare that the identity of the famed killer is none other than-_

The door creaked open, and he looked up to see Dream entering the apartment, hanging his coat and keys on the hook by the door and scowling heavily. 

“Geez, bad day?”

He jumped and whirled around, relaxing when he saw George seated at the table. He ran a hand through his hair and unknit his brow, taking a deep breath. 

“Sorry. I thought you’d be in bed by now. I was listening to the news on the way home, and I was upset about that. Did you hear the latest stuff on the Nightmare?” 

“I was just reading an article about it now.” 

He looked down at the screen. 

_-is none other than BadBoyHalo, CEO of Muffinteer Industries, who is well-known for his extensive charity work and advocacy for no-kill animal shelters. We do not have enough information to state a potential motive for these shocking crimes, but stay tuned for more news on this unfolding story._

“Crazy, right?” Dream said, sitting down at the table next to him. “I went to high school with him. Seemed like a great guy who wouldn’t hurt a fly. He didn’t even curse, hated it when the rest of us did. I guess you can never really tell what someone’s like inside.”

George nodded. “Yeah, I guess not,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, next chapter will come out in on Friday, 10/2! I would love to hear theories in the comments.


	2. Chapter 2

George set down his phone, turning to his roommate. “So, why were you home so late today?”

“Hospital needed me for longer. Sorry I didn’t text.”

“It’s no big deal. Hey, I was thinking, do you want to actually have dinner together tomorrow? I feel like we haven’t had a good conversation for a while, with our work schedules. I’ll cook.”

“Sure. I can try and get home by seven, give or take a half hour.”

“Awesome.” He grabbed his phone and got up to clear his plate. “I should get to bed. Are you going to be up for a little while longer?”

“Yeah. I haven’t eaten much since this morning, I’ll probably just make a bowl of cereal or something, then hit the hay.”

“Okay. Just a heads up, I brought home some stuff from work today and it’s in the pantry. Don’t touch it.”

“What, you think I’m going to eat it or something?”

George smirked. “I never know with you.” 

He walked off down the hall to his bedroom, and Dream made a beeline for the pantry, quickly locating the brown bag his roommate had put on the top shelf. He opened it, shoulders slumping when all he saw were some small white flowers. Occasionally, George tried to disguise a secret stash of chocolate as “work stuff,” but it looked like he was telling the truth this time. 

True to his word, he fixed himself a bowl of cereal, chuckling as he pictured the face George would make if he could see him pouring the milk before the cereal. He pulled out his phone and pulled up the news, watching report after report on the arrest of the infamous Nightmare killer. Despite what he’d told George, he had no intention of going to bed anytime soon.

\---

George arrived home in record time after work the following day, eager to get started on prep for dinner with his roommate. They’d been living together for three months, but they’d only had a handful of meals together besides rushed breakfasts in the morning, and sometimes they didn’t even get that, like this morning. Dream had already left by the time he’d woken up.

He got started with a spring in his step, bustling around the kitchen with a smile as he got out ingredients. While rummaging around in the pantry for the turmeric, he noted with an exasperated sigh that his brown bag had been moved. He knew Dream hadn’t actually eaten any of the samples in the bag, but he probably should hide things like that in the future. 

He started humming again as he put the final touches on the spicy curry he’d made, ladling it over two plates of white rice and putting them down on the table before sitting down to wait for his friend. According to the kitchen clock, Dream should have arrived ten minutes ago, but he had said he might be up to a half hour late. He was content to wait a few minutes longer. 

However, 7:30 came and went, and there was still no sign of him. When 8:30 rolled around, he put Dream's plate in the fridge and ate without him, phone face-up on the table and waiting for a notification. 

Another hour passed with no word. He had long since moved to the couch and curled up with his book, though he was having trouble concentrating on it. His phone rested on the coffee table, screen mocking him with its lack of messages. As the time clicked past eleven o’clock, he considered going to bed, but he still hadn’t heard a word from his friend, and he was determined to wait up and find out why he’d blown him off. 

He sat up and watched the clock switch from pm to am, passing the time by doing the dishes he usually would have left for the morning and tidying up around the kitchen. He even peeked into Dream's bedroom, looking for more messes to clean, but it was immaculate as always. Out of things to do, he sat down in his chair and scrolled through Twitter, wondering what on earth had happened at the hospital that would warrant staying past one in the morning with no communication. 

At around 2:40, he finally lost the battle against his growing fatigue, dozing off with his head in his arms and his phone battery dropping to zero beside him.

\---

George slowly opened his eyes, wondering what was digging into the bridge of his nose. He lifted his head up to discover himself not in bed, but still at the table, his wide-rimmed, round glasses leaving angry red lines on his face where they’d been pressed into the wood. He straightened them and rubbed sleep out of his eyes, glancing at the clock on the oven to see that it was nearly four in the morning.

A creak broke the silence behind him, and he spun around to see Dream frozen in the entryway, barefoot and carrying a small backpack, his face schooled into a carefully calm expression and half hidden by the hood of his forest green hoodie. He was trying so hard to not look guilty that it only made the behavior more incriminating. 

“Sorry to wake you,” he said lightly, turning to leave.

“Nuh uh, you’re not getting away that easily. Where were you?”

“There was a big accident on the freeway and I had to help.”

“Until four in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“The ‘it was my job’ story works until about one in the morning on a normal day, then gets significantly less plausible. I’m supposed to believe you got off work nine hours later than you said you would and that you had no opportunity that entire time to shoot your roommate a text?”

“I mean, that is what happened, but you can choose whether or not you believe me.”

He dissected the expression on his friend’s face, searching for any sign of a lie, but he couldn’t tell if Dream was deceiving him directly. He was convinced he at least wasn’t getting the whole truth, though. 

“If that’s true, then what happened to your shoes?”

“If you stepped in a puddle of blood on accident, would you want to wear those shoes in your car? I threw them out.”

Again, he couldn’t find any trace of untruth, but Dream was still wearing that eerily composed expression that no normal human has in the early hours of the morning, especially after a twenty hour day ‘at work.’ 

"You could have at least messaged me when you were on your way home." His phone was dead, so that wouldn't have helped, but that wasn't the point. 

"You’re a light sleeper. I didn’t want to wake you."

He had an excuse for everything. George could probably spend an hour trying to pick a hole in his story and not find one. He decided to let the matter rest. 

"Well, let's have a midnight snack since you missed dinner."

"Again, four in the morning."

"Technicalities."

Scooping up his phone so he could plug it into the wall to charge while they ate, he walked over to the fridge and got Dream's serving and the two pots of leftover curry back out, dishing up another plate for himself and sticking both in the microwave. 

"Why'd you put it in two containers? It just makes more dishes to clean."

"One pot's spicier than the other. I know my limits, and you don't have any."

"Thanks, that's really considerate of you."

George put both plates down on the table and slid into the seat across from his roommate, watching across the room as his phone lit up and powered back on. 

"Dig in," he prompted, taking a bite of the food, which was surprisingly good when reheated. His roommate obeyed, though George had some things to say about the way he sorted out the chicken and ate it separately. 

"This is really good. It tastes different than the last time you made it, though. New seasoning?"

"A co-worker gave me her recipe to try. She said some friend's Indian grandmother gave it to her ex-boyfriend, and she got it from his brother."

Dream chuckled. "How convoluted."

"That's what I said. Now you can say you got it from your roommate’s coworker’s ex-boyfriend’s brother’s friend’s grandma."

"No way I'm going to remember that."

"I bet you could. You've got both your and my entire schedule memorized, one line shouldn't be that hard."

"Your schedule is easy because it's predictable. My schedule is easy because I'm living it. Where all your recipes come from is something that has come up once and we will never discuss again."

The two chatted and laughed over the delicious food, the only indicator that it was four in the morning their lowered speaking volumes so they wouldn't disturb their neighbors. 

After maybe ten minutes, Dream stood up, saying he needed to use the bathroom and he'd be out in a minute. George got up and went to check his phone notifications while he waited, opening a couple emails and deleting spam from his inbox. As he scrolled, his gaze caught on an email from a news website he must have given his address to at some point. The headline was "THE NIGHTMARE CONTINUES." His finger hovered over the delete button, then his curiosity got the better of him and he clicked on the message. The article was headed with a long-distance shot of a plume of smoke from a building somewhere downtown. 

_Authorities were left baffled mere moments ago as another blow was dealt by the Nightmare Killer, previously thought to be BadBoyHalo. An animal shelter funded by the suspect was set aflame in the early hours of this morning, and emergency personnel arrived to find a large sign on the roof reading, "IMPOSTER."_

_The building was able to be saved, due to the quick action of the staff working at the MC City Fire Department and the Mineplex Hospital. The casualties from the fire were limited to a single night guard, who only suffered minor injuries, but the bigger news is that another victim from the infamous Killer was discovered inside near the source of the fire, the burned corpse identified as Sapnap, the police detective who was investigating the case._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, next chapter will come out in on Wednesday, 10/7! I would love to hear theories in the comments.


	3. Chapter 3

George furrowed his brow, sorting through the facts in his mind. He was obviously horrified that someone had been murdered, but that wasn't what he was focusing on. The article said people from Mineplex Hospital were on the scene, and Dream was one of only four or five EMTs that worked there. They only had one ambulance, since they had a relatively small area to service before the bigger and often closer Hypixel Hospital became the better option. However, Dream had said he was held up by a freeway accident, not a fire. 

There was no reason for him to hide the fact it was a fire that had kept him away. In fact, George probably would have been more accepting of that explanation since fires were usually a bigger emergency than a wreck, but his roommate had still chosen to say it was a car crash. Either he’d lied about what he’d been doing at work, or he wasn’t at work at all. He said he’d ditched his shoes after leaving his job, though, so where could he have gone where being barefoot was an option? Had he lied about that as well?

There was probably a reasonable explanation for his behavior, he rationalized. Maybe he’d gone stargazing in the park, or been at a friend’s house. He was a naturally private person, and he was disinclined to sharing what he did in his free time. However, in George’s opinion, those things didn’t justify blowing off your roommate and lying about it.

He started to pace idly around the kitchen table, puzzling over the paradox. As he completed his third lap, he accidentally kicked Dream's backpack, still on the floor where he left it. A dull plunk rang out where his foot hit, followed by the rattling noise of something hard on glass. 

His curiosity was piqued. They didn’t have any glass jars in the apartment that he knew about, but that seemed to be the most fitting explanation for the noise. What had his roommate brought home? It didn’t sound like it was edible, unless it was hard candy or something similar, but he couldn’t think of much else besides food that would be kept in a jar like that. Rocks, perhaps?

Dream would probably get annoyed if he looked, but he had looked in George’s paper bag earlier against his wishes, so maybe he could justify a peek. He knelt down and unzipped the backpack, exposing the silver lid of a small glass jar, just as he’d suspected. He pulled it out, finding it was filled with shiny black spheres of glass or maybe rock, each one perfectly round and with a diameter of about an inch. Why Dream had to go get them at three in the morning, he had no idea, but at least he’d had his private payback now. 

The door down the hallway creaked open, and he hurriedly replaced the jar, but as he closed the bag the zipper caught on the fabric, stuck fast. He yanked on the zipper pull, but it wouldn’t come loose, and he could hear footsteps seconds away from entering the kitchen. He dropped the bag and jumped back up, staring very hard at his phone as Dream walked back in. He felt incredibly suspicious looking, even if all he was doing was standing in his kitchen. 

“What’re you looking at?” his roommate asked easily. 

“A news article,” he said quickly, eager to give himself an excuse. Dream smiled incredulously. 

“Finally kicking your outdated reading habits?”

“This one just caught my eye when I was looking at my email,” he supplied swiftly. He knew he was talking too fast, since he was wound up about almost being caught, but it was hard to rein himself in. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed his shoulders, telling himself he hadn’t really done anything wrong, and held out his phone. “More stuff on Nightmare,” he said in a casual tone. 

“I thought they caught him?” Dream said, raising his eyebrow in surprise, taking the device, and starting to skim. 

“Apparently he stuck again sometime this morning, with both murder and arson.”

His friend was scrolling farther down in the article than George had gotten. “Seems like the murder we heard about yesterday wasn’t Nightmare at all. BadBoyHalo was trying to frame it like it was, but it was really a result of some personal argument gone horribly wrong.”

“Hey, did you see the bit about the hospital?” George asked.

“What’re you talking about?”

“It says staff from Mineplex were on the scene.”

Dream was unperturbed, looking up at him with that eerily calm expression again. “Yeah. I was there.”

“You said it was a car accident that kept you out late, not a fire.”

“No, I said a problem on the freeway. The animal shelter is right on the interstate, we had to block off some road.” He went back to scrolling through the article.

That didn’t make sense to George. Dream was changing his story now that he’d been found out, and he wanted to know why. He grabbed his phone back, intending to confront Dream about it, but froze, gaze locked on the screen, where the photo of the previous murder victim was reused in the article. The picture was higher quality than the one in his newspaper, and the glint of the glassy, black _marbles_ that replaced Skeppy’s eyes stood out in crystal clear quality. 

That’s what was in Dream's jar. Shiny, polished marbles the same size as human eyes. His mind jumped from fact to fact like sparks in a forest fire as he drew connections. Dream, who had been exceptionally interested in every news story about the Nightmare, who had no qualms about blood and gore, who had no alibi for the murder of the chief detective on the case, possessed the very thing that identified every victim the Nightmare had ever murdered. The revelation crashed over him like a tsunami. He’d been living with the _Nightmare Killer_ for three entire months. 

“George?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin, fumbling with his phone as it almost slipped out of his hand. 

“What’s the matter?” his roommate asked quizzically, a benign smile on his face. He needed to act natural. Dream didn’t know what he’d just figured out, and he was going to do everything in his power to keep it that way until he could ensure his own safety. He tried a silly grin, but it felt forced. He could only hope it looked okay. He was way out of his depth here. 

“Sorry, just zoned out for a second,” he said, glancing wildly around the kitchen to find a new conversation topic and working to formulate a plan. “Do you want more curry?”

“I haven’t even finished my first plate.”

“Oh.”

They sat back down at the table to finish, but George only picked tensely at his food, appetite gone. The timer was ticking. He was a good actor for the most part, but this was a new level of stress that he couldn’t handle for very long. He couldn’t help but glance in the direction of Dream's bag every few seconds, no matter how hard he tried to avoid doing it. His roommate didn’t seem to have a care in the world, shoveling heaping spoonfuls of rice into his mouth and leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes. 

“You seem on edge,” he pointed out, and George mentally swore, trying unsuccessfully to release the bunches in his shoulder muscles. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I’m-” Too tight-sounding. “I’m fine.” That was better. “Just really tired.”

“Yeah, we should probably head to bed soon,” he agreed, getting up to put his plate in the sink and scooping up his bag. He peered closely at the zipper, then tugged on it. George’s heart dropped, but his roommate only shrugged.

“I must’ve jammed it when I closed it last,” he said, and the knot in George’s stomach loosened. He might be safe. “You can head off, I’ll be there in a second.”

He didn’t wait around for a second invitation, immediately turning and making a beeline for his bedroom. He speedwalked down their narrow hallway to his door and tried to open it, but the knob wouldn’t turn. He jiggled and twisted, but it was locked from the inside. His heart rate spiked, but he took a shaky breath and tried to remain level headed. 

If his door was open and he locked it using the mechanism inside the room, then left and shut the door, it would lock automatically and prevent him from getting back in. He probably did it by accident this morning in his rush. Nothing to worry about, he told himself, it was easy to get back in. He felt around on the top of the doorframe, where he normally kept the key, but it was gone. This was now something to worry about. 

There was a spare in one of the drawers in the kitchen, but that would mean reentering the presence of the Nightmare Killer while he was internally and externally freaking out, which he was not keen to do. He hurried over to check Dream's door, thinking he might have a spare key hidden somewhere since they used the same lock, but all his fingers came away with was dust.

“Did you want this?” Dream's voice echoed down the shadowy hallway, and George froze, slowly turning around. His roommate stood silhouetted in the light from the kitchen, holding up the key from George’s door. “Sorry,” he said cheerfully. “I needed it myself earlier today and forgot to put it back.” 

He started walking down the hallway towards George, a wide grin on his face as he held out the key. Prickling unease shivered up his spine as Dream closed the distance between them, but he didn’t move. Running would give him away in an instant. Ten feet away, seven, five, four, three-

Dream's fist flew out of nowhere, colliding with his jaw with devastating force as the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come heeeere, George... X)  
> Comments would be awesome if you can leave one! Next chapter will be out on Monday, 10/11.  
> Note (10/11): It's going to be a day late since I decided I wanted to rewrite the last chapter, sorry!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter is why the torture tag is included. It is not terrible (at least by my assessment), but it is more graphic. 
> 
> I expanded the chapter count to 6 since I re-wrote the ending a little, so this story will keep going for a little longer!

George came to with a pounding headache and a fierce pain in his lower jaw. He groaned and groggily opened his eyes, finding himself in a brightly lit room he didn’t recognize. He was lying on something cold and hard, thick ropes keeping him in place when he tried to squirm. 

“Welcome back, George,” Dream said, a horribly excited lilt pervading his tone. “You have timed your awakening perfectly, I was just getting ready to bring you around myself.”

George stayed silent, tongue-tied, and Dream laughed. “You really thought you’d outsmarted me, didn’t you? I knew you’d ferreted out my secret the instant I picked up my backpack. I had my suspicions before that, but it was so obvious once you revealed yourself by snooping. I had already locked your door as a precaution, of course, but you really couldn’t have made it easier on me. I read you like an open book.”

Raw panic was the only emotion on George’s face, and Dream almost chuckled, relishing the thrill of it all. It certainly was not how he’d anticipated his next murder taking place, but it was a necessary sacrifice to avoid detection, and it was still delightful even without the extensive weeks of planning. His hands were shaking from adrenaline and the glory of triumph. 

“I suppose you already know what’s going to happen, but I’ll walk you through it anyway. I have a _special_ way of doing things,” he drawled, stalking over to his instrument table and selecting his first tool, a razor sharp scalpel. It clattered to the floor, and he frowned, stilling his quivering hand. Now was no time for nerves, even if he knew George better than most of his victims. He picked up a different blade, keeping a firm grip on it, and walked back over to the table where his roommate lay. 

“We’re going to be doing an abbreviated version today, since I am a little pressed for time. I have work in the morning, after all.” He grinned sadistically, laughing at his own joke. “The first thing we’re going to do is see what color your blood is.” He seized George’s arm, slicing a long gash down his forearm. His roommate let out a sort of strangled squeal as scarlet blood bubbled out of the cut, dripping down onto Dream's glove and running down his arm. He shivered in delight. 

“It’s beautiful, George. Perfect. Feel free to scream, though. It is much more fun for me that way.” He saw the defiance spark in his victim’s eyes, and gleefully looked forward to breaking it. Even the strongest screamed eventually. 

He moved over to the stomach, gently lifting up the shirt to expose the vulnerable flesh. He carefully rested the blade on top of the skin, making deliberate eye contact as he smiled. George squeaked, and he glanced down to see that his hand was shaking again, leaving two little cuts behind. He scowled and stabilized his hand, repositioning the blade. He disliked having his routine disrupted. 

“Next, we’re going to do something very special,” he continued, returning his stare to George’s face. “They never talked about this part in the news, I suppose the police wanted this delicious little secret for themselves. We’re going to make a little picture on your tummy, for your family and the mortician to remember me by. Now, I didn’t get the chance to pick something ahead of time, so do you have any suggestions?”

George did not respond, as expected. 

“I think we’ll do a pretty flower. How does that sound? Like those ones you brought home the other day.” 

Dream snickered, but a sudden wave of dizziness overtook him as he exhaled, sending him reeling for a moment before he shook it off. The room seemed very bright. How troublesome, he must be more tired than he thought. He moved to make the first incision, but his hand was shaking badly again, preventing him from making a clean cut. He growled in frustration. He didn’t want to risk accidentally slicing too deep and ending his fun early.

“I think we’re going to skip to a different step,” he said irritatedly. He walked over to George’s head and secured it in place using the vice on the table, his mood improving as he saw his victim realize what he had in mind and start to struggle. 

“We’re done playing now,” he giggled, selecting a tool that looked like an odd blend of a chisel and a spoon. 

“Dream, please, don’t!” George broke his silence at last, begging for him to stop, to see reason. 

“George, think about it from my point of view. I want to kill and I have the intelligence to get away with it, so why shouldn’t I? I have no moral compass to worry about like you.”

“Just wait a little longer, you were supposed to draw it out more, I don’t want to be blind-”

“That’s what you’re scared of? Being blind in your last moments? Not your impending death?” His voice grew stone cold. “I am going to kill you, George. I am- argh-” Another rush of dizziness overcame him, and he leaned heavily on the table. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling seemed unbearably intense. His whole body was quaking. It wouldn’t stop. 

Laughter split the air, and Dream flinched. This maniacal cackling wasn’t his. It was coming from George, strapped to the table of a serial killer and facing his demise, crowing like he’d heard the best joke of his life.

“I’m not going to die, Dream!” he screamed. “You are, I’ve seen to it myself!”

An odd feeling was spreading slowly up his legs, like they didn’t want to move anymore. The world was tilting off kilter, and it was getting harder to stay upright. 

“Pretty little flowers, Dream? Like the ones I brought home the other day? I’m not the one with a flowery stomach. Do you want to know where those flowers went? You ate them!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hemlock, Dream, hemlock!” George shrieked. It seemed like he was losing his mind. “I poisoned you, and you never suspected a thing!” 

Dream was having trouble finding words. The numb feeling was still climbing. 

“Have you put it together yet?” George’s volume was lowering, and a chill ran down Dream's spine. “You’re not the only murderer in this room. Have you ever heard of Fundy, or Eret, or Karl Jacobs, or Niachu, or Wilbur Soot?” He carried on without waiting for a response, his voice taking on a shrill overtone. “Of course not! All missing persons cases, no two in the same state, one every three months, all of them _never found._ They never will be, because I killed them, and I don’t link my corpses back to me like an idiot, Dream.”

A cold dread was taking over him. He had been so certain he was the victor here. He was always in control of the situation, but that was being wrenched from his hands. 

Or was it?

He wasn’t the one strapped to the table, after all. A breathy chuckle escaped him as he forced himself to stay standing, fingers still wrapped tight around his weapon. 

“There’s a crucial flaw in your logic here,” he rasped.

He raised the curved blade over his head, reveling in the absolute fear that instantly drove out every other feeling in his victim. That’s what he still was, after all. A victim. He was just more difficult to dispatch than most. Maybe George hadn’t been killing for the fame, but his gloating had brought about his own demise. 

“Dream!”

He brought the blade down on George’s chest, where it embedded itself with a sickening crunch and a squelching noise, ripping through skin and muscle as it sank deep into his flesh. His victim let out a deafening screech that assaulted his eardrums, making them ring, and he tore the weapon out with a spray of blood, ripping the puncture wound wider as scarlet burbled out into the air. He could hear his victim’s breathing become choppy and labored, but his own lungs were constricting as well, each breath becoming a chore. He gritted his teeth and sucked in more air, not ready to go down yet. 

George’s eyes were blown wide in agony and terror, inviting spherical targets that were only too easy to stab with what strength he had left. His victim screamed in torment as he dug both eyes out of their sockets, the blood drenching his hands as he exulted in the mutilation. Finished, he dropped to his knees, his joints freezing up one by one as George’s blood started to drip off the edge of the table and splatter onto the floor. 

He collapsed the rest of the way, limbs going limp as he lost the ability to control them and his chest growing intolerably tight. He couldn’t take in more oxygen. He fought to inhale one more time, to give himself just a few more seconds, but nothing would obey him anymore. 

George drew one last rattling breath above him, then was still. If he could have smiled, he would have. He won their battle after all.

If he had to go, this was a pretty good way of doing it. Done to death by an enemy with skills rivaling his own, yet still emerging on top as the last one left. He would have liked it to be more dramatic than biting it while lying paralyzed on the floor, perhaps obliterated by an explosion or shot in the head after an extensive chase, but it wasn’t his fault George’s methods were so simple. Simple, yet terribly effective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, next chapter will be out on Saturday, 10/17!  
> I would love to hear your reactions in the comments :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm posting a day early. Hold onto your hats, it's not over yet!
> 
> Note: In this chapter, our daring duo are freshmen in high school.

“C’mon, Tubbo, this is going to be great! I’ve been staking this place out for a week, not even squatters come here. It’s been completely empty for years,” Tommy assured him, half-dragging him towards the old warehouse. It was lined with shining silver light from the half moon hanging in the sky, and Tubbo felt like they were the only ones around for miles despite being in the heart of the city. A whistling breeze was scampering through the alley behind them, and to his paranoid brain it sounded like a warning. He shoved that little voice to the back of his head and squashed it down, shoring up his resolve as he stumbled after his friend. No way was he going to chicken out now. 

“Isn’t it supposed to be haunted?” he asked excitedly, focusing on the cool part of this whole thing. 

“Oh, totally. TimeDeo was hanging around a while back and he said he heard horrible screaming from somewhere in there. It’s gotta be chock-full of ghosts.”

“We should've brought a Ouija board or some of that high-tech ghost hunting equipment people get.”

“My friend Badlinu’s got one of those EMF readers they use on shows, but he’s on a trip right now. We’ve got to come back with it another time.”

“Hopefully there’ll be a second time. My mom’s going to kill me if she finds out we came here when we’re supposed to be at your house.”

Tommy chuckled. “Aren’t you a good little freshman, all worried about school. They’re not gonna catch us. My mom thinks we’re at a movie, she won’t try and call us for another hour at least. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I just want to say I hate it when you ask that. You’re going to jinx us.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and yanked him over to the chain link fence, launching himself upwards and latching on like a monkey as he scrambled over the top. “You coming?”

“Right behind you.”

He scaled the barrier with ease and jumped down beside his friend, marveling at how they expected a fence like that to keep out anyone who was even mildly determined. As he brushed himself off, he gazed up at the intimidating building with the first flutters of nervousness in his gut, the fact they were trespassing hitting home. Tommy, unaffected by such atmosphere-induced mood changes, dashed over to the nearest door, cursing loudly when he found it locked. Tubbo shushed him, looking over his shoulder at the still-empty alleyway, but Tommy only laughed at his friend.

“Got to be another way in… aha!” He ran over to a tarp-covered car that was parked under a window, clambering onto the vehicle’s roof from the hood and tugging on the window latch, which didn’t move. “I’m going to break the glass with my elbow,” he declared, readying himself for the blow. Tubbo hurriedly objected. 

“Let’s just find something else to smash it open. You’re going to bust your arm instead of the glass,” he told his friend, going over to a pile of rubbish to dig through it. 

“Only if I still get to do the breaking,” his friend compromised, hopping down to join him. He stood back up after a moment, hefting a sizable piece of metal pipe. “This’ll do some damage.” 

He climbed back on top of the car and set to work busting out a pane of glass, Tubbo watching from behind. While waiting, he curiously lifted the end of the tarp covering the car Tommy was standing on, exposing a pale blue Toyota that captured the moonlight in graceful streaks and played it across the lines of floral themed bumper stickers. He frowned, remembering something Tommy had told him the other day. 

“Didn’t you say the car that almost hit you had flower stickers on it?” he questioned.

Tommy looked over from his work. “The blue one that nearly ran over my discs a week and a half ago? Yeah, why?”

“I think this is the same car.”

Tommy leaped down to come look, nodding in amazement as he examined the car’s rear bumper. “Sure is. I thought it belonged to an old lady or something. What’s it doing here?”

“Beats me. I thought you said no one ever came here.”

“I did say that, because no one does. I haven’t seen a single person on the property any of the times I’ve watched the place. I’m pretty sure the car’s been here the whole time, I remember seeing it the other day.”

“That’s super weird.”

“It’s not a big deal though,” Tommy cajoled. “Seeing a familiar car isn’t going to pull the plug on our exploring, is it?”

“Of course I still want to get in there, but if we see people, can we just leave them alone? Completely?” 

“Oh, for sure. I’m reckless, not dumb.”

Tommy climbed back up and knocked out the last bit of glass, reaching inside the window and twisting the lock until it swung open. The pair climbed inside, one with a touch more trepidation than the other, and dropped down to the floor. They were standing on a platform overlooking a wide open space that probably used to be filled with machinery, but now was almost completely empty, stretching two stories above their heads and one story below them. There were several doors along the far wall on the different levels, probably leading to offices or maybe storage rooms. There was an odd musty smell permeating the whole space, evoking a vaguely unpleasant, turbulent sensation in Tubbo’s stomach. 

Tommy rubbed his hands together with glee, eager to start poking around. He started off in the direction of the stairs, but Tubbo grabbed his arm and held him back, eyes locked on something under them. 

“Look down there,” he whispered, pointing at the ground on the first floor directly below them, where a beam of white light was cast innocently on the concrete. The bottom floor was below ground, which meant the light had to be artificial. His misgivings multiplied by tenfold. Since the building had been abandoned and uninhabited for years, there wouldn’t be a lightbulb turned on in the basement unless someone had been there recently. 

“Let’s go see what it is!”

“Tommy, don’t,” Tubbo hissed. “You said we’d leave, not investigate.”

“Our whole point is to investigate! There’s nothing moving or making noise, right? I said we’d leave if we saw people.” He pulled his sleeve out of Tubbo’s grasp and darted over to the staircase, sliding down the railing with a whoop as his friend was forced to follow. The strange, pungent smell was stronger down there, making Tubbo feel congested and nauseous.

“There’s no one here, it’s fine,” Tommy called over his shoulder, heading around the back of the stairway and towards the door the light was emanating from. Tubbo tried to let go of his worries and raced after him, slowing down when he caught up so they were approaching side by side. 

The door of the lit-up room was unremarkable, yet the glow emanating from the other side was enough to make it the most interesting part of the building by a long shot. While he was still nervous, the thrill of the moment gripped him like a vice, squeezing fast breaths out of his lungs and pumping adrenaline through his veins as his friend strode confidently over to the door and tried the handle. It jiggled, but didn’t turn. Tommy cursed under his breath, but Tubbo beamed and dug into his pocket to fish out the paper clip he’d nicked from his dad’s desk that afternoon, eager to put three months of YouTube tutorials into practice. He tapped his friend on the shoulder and held up his weapon of choice.

“Check this out,” he said, unfolding the paper clip into the proper shape and kneeling down in front of the lock, carefully inserting the bent metal and twisting it back and forth as he listened to the tumblers in the lock shift. With a satisfying pop, the lock clicked open and he stashed the paperclip for later use, a pleased grin on his face as Tommy clapped him on the back. 

“Well done! You’ve saved the expedition. I think after that you get to go first.”

Tubbo laughed and got back to his feet, the praise glowing in his chest and chasing out some of the nerves previously nesting there like snakes. With Tommy hovering over his shoulder, he gleefully threw the door open.

A wall of stench and decay hit him like a truck, overloading his senses and making his eyes sting and water as he gagged violently, his vision blurred. Tommy was retching and leaning heavily on the door frame behind him, gasping coughs racking his body. Tubbo fought to regain control of his own reflexes, his stomach threatening to expel everything he’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours. 

He bent double as the urge to vomit subsided, dashing the water from his eyes and trembling slightly. A dark reddish-brown stain on the tiles swam into view, a thin maroon crust grating under the sole of his shoe. His gaze slowly followed the dried-up puddle up to a shape clothed in a mottled and sullied green sweatshirt, lying motionless on the ground. Traveling farther up, he saw a second form, sprawled limply on a table above the first, stomach and face mutilated and covered in long-since dried blood. The bodies were bloated and swelled to the point that they looked grotesquely cartoon-like, an illusion strengthened by the flies buzzing greedily around the burst blisters peppering the decaying skin like they would around an animated trash can. 

Something in his brain short-circuited. His eyes were still taking in the scene, but his optic nerves weren’t passing the information to his brain. In some recess of his subconscious, the shock and trauma were digging themselves a pit, burrowing down into his core with a stubbornness that would last for years to come, but on the surface he couldn’t form a single coherent thought, frozen in fear. The longer he stared, the more he wanted to keep looking, the perverted peace and stillness of the gruesome scene awakening something inside his brain that would not be easily put to rest.

He heard Tommy’s horrified yell as though he were underwater, dazedly registering that the sound was not a good thing and wondering what he should do about it. He felt like he was wading through quicksand, dumbly staring at the putrid corpses of what used to be two men. He wondered what they had been in life, what twisted sequence of events had led up to this moment. He wanted to reach out and dig into their brains, find what had snapped and hold it up to the light.

He was yanked back to reality by Tommy’s tight grip on his arm, suddenly stumbling as his friend turned and ran, pulling him along as they raced back the way they’d come. They scrambled back up the stairs and over to the window, Tommy practically shoving him outside before launching himself through a moment later. 

Tubbo slid off the roof of the car and collapsed down into the dirt, shaking like a leaf with his thoughts careening down a steep slope, banging up against bloody imagery at every turn. Tommy tumbled down after him, crushing him in a suffocating hug as tears leaked slowly down his face, words flying out of his mouth much faster than Tubbo was capable of processing. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, what do we do? I gotta do something, we need help, I should call Mom, no, I should call the police, oh my god, those guys were dead- _there are two dead bodies in there!_ What do I do?” He was working himself up into hysteria, fumbling in his jeans pocket for his cell phone and keeping himself pressed up against Tubbo’s side like he needed constant reassurance that his friend was still there.

Tubbo closed his eyes and covered his ears, trying desperately to block out some of the overstimulation, but behind his eyelids he could still see the scarlet of blood splashed across his mind’s eye, permanently etched there like it had been burned in by a laser. He hated it, but it was strangely alluring, dragging him down the rabbit hole like a drug. A choked gasp caught in his throat and he tried to scream, but it wouldn’t come, the sound stuck fast in his chest. 

Tommy was in the middle of telling the 911 operator what was going on. 

“-yes, we’re at the old factory on L’Manberg Avenue, we’re both okay and outside now- Tubbo?” He suddenly noticed his friend had gone as still as a statue next to him, curled tightly in on himself and barely breathing. He grabbed both his friend’s hands and ripped them away from his ears, flinching when Tubbo’s eyes flew open, full of instinctual panic. 

“Tubbo, stay with me, police are coming, it’s going to be okay.” He put the phone back to his ear. “My friend’s not doing very well, please hurry… No he’s not injured, he’s freaking out and freezing up and his breathing’s super shallow… okay, I’ll do that.”

Placing his other hand gently on Tubbo’s knee, he looked him straight in the eyes and helped him count through breaths, the raw terror in his eyes lessening gradually as they kept going. The 911 operator kept him updated on the police, and soon he heard a siren in the distance as help arrived.

He wrapped his friend in another hug and felt Tubbo relax in the embrace, though his friend’s heart still beat wildly in his chest like it wanted to erupt out of him and fly off down the road and away from the trauma. Tommy could feel his own pulse thrumming erratically in a contrasting beat, and he hugged his friend tighter. 

A police car tore around the corner and screeched to a halt in front of the chain-link fence, sirens blaring and lights strobing red and blue. A man climbed out and swiftly scaled the fence with cat-like grace, dropping lithely to the ground in a crouch and running over to the pair of them. 

“Hello boys, I am Detective Antfrost. You’re the ones who called, right?”

Tommy nodded, the phone still held against his ear and clutching his shivering friend closer. 

“I’m going to get you two out of here, then some more people are going to come take care of what you saw. Are you guys going to be okay coming with me to the station so we can call your parents?” 

Another nod from Tommy. 

“You guys are going to be safe now, I promise. Whatever you saw in there, it’s not going to hurt anyone anymore.”

Tubbo wasn’t sure of the truth of that statement. He still couldn’t shake the sight from his mind or the smell from his nostrils, and he wouldn’t be able to for a long time yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say I'm sorry, but then I'd be lying. I'd love to hear reactions in the comments :)
> 
> The final chapter will be out on Wednesday, 10/21!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: Only pain lies ahead. Like, a lot of it. Also, a blood and mild gore warning.

Tommy cruised down the street in his beat-up red sedan with a shiny new driver’s license tucked into his wallet, lip-syncing enthusiastically to the music as he turned down his best friend’s street. A bag with two donuts in it sat on the seat next to him, hopefully not melting in the sticky heat caused by his broken air conditioner. Even though they were well into what technically should've been fall, the crisp cool hadn’t set in yet, and not even rolling down all his windows couldn't lessen the stifling humidity. 

He parked, nearly rolling over the curb, and leapt out of the car, grabbing the bag off the passenger seat and locking the vehicle with a loud click. He didn’t bother knocking on the front door, simply letting himself into the backyard using the side gate. Tubbo was in the far corner of the yard, crouched over something he couldn’t see. 

“Hey, guess what I got?” he called excitedly, holding up his wallet and the bag of donuts. His friend jumped, startled, and spun around. 

“Oh, hi Tommy. What is it?”

“I can drive here myself now! I went and got donuts for us.”

Tubbo cracked a small smile. “That’s great. What type?”

“Just glazed. They didn’t have the jelly filled ones this time. What’re you looking at?”

His friend glanced back over his shoulder. “Our cat attacked a baby bird. I was examining it.”

Tommy walked over to stand next to his friend, who bent back down to carefully lift one of the fledgling's wings with a stick. The bird was nearly cleaved in two, the whole front slit open down the middle. Brittle bones, internal organs, and tattered feathers were soaked in gross red. Tommy recoiled in disgust, ugly memories churning in his subconscious. Tubbo, however, kept his gaze trained on the gore, fingers quivering as he turned the bird’s head to the side with the twig and parted its beak, letting out a trickle of maroon. 

“Get away from that, it’s awful,” he sputtered. His desire for donuts had decreased dramatically. 

“Isn’t it fascinating, though?” his friend murmured. “Something infinitely complex, snuffed out in an instant.” 

“Let’s go inside,” he said, turning away from the gruesome sight and pulling Tubbo after him. He didn’t need to deal with this right now. Even after two years, he couldn’t stand blood, and he still had nightmares regularly. He’d probably have one tonight, after seeing that. 

His best friend, on the other hand, had been affected differently. He was more reserved and subdued now, and he wanted to hang out less. They still spent a lot of time together, but it felt more one sided, like his friend didn’t really want him around anymore. Tommy usually tried to ignore that. Tubbo had also shown a new interest in biology, both the way living things worked and the way they stuttered to a halt. He didn’t get nightmares, or if he did, he had never shared. 

Only one of the pair had gone to therapy. 

“You can have my donut, I’m not hungry anymore,” he told Tubbo when they got inside, handing him the bag. The pair sat down at the kitchen table and his friend started to eat the treats in silence, leaving Tommy to awkwardly stare at his phone, unsure what to talk about. The bird had put him in a tetchy mood, and he wished Tubbo could just be cheerful for once. He didn’t want to blame him for the way things were, but he could feel the distance growing between them. 

“Are you ready to go?” he eventually asked after his friend had stuck the last bite of pastry into his mouth. The pair had planned a trip to a nearby lake with a hiking trail for that day, to celebrate him getting his driver’s license. Tubbo nodded, shoving his phone into his pocket and following Tommy to the front door and out to the car. He dug out his key and stuck it in the lock, but, in true beater fashion, his car refused to let him in. 

“Can I borrow your pocket knife for a sec?” he asked his friend. “The door’s acting up again.”

“Sure.” Tubbo reached into his back pocket and handed it over, watching as he knelt down by the car door and flipped open the blade. 

The knife, normally kept in pristine condition, had crimson smears on parts of the blade, and Tommy grimaced and wiped it on the grass before inserting it into the lock and wiggling it back and forth. 

“What were you using this for? You didn’t clean it very well,” he said. 

“I was chopping fruit earlier,” Tubbo supplied sullenly. 

Tommy shrugged and the lock clicked, finally popping free. 

They spent most of the drive in silence, Tommy occasionally taking stabs at conversation that were rapidly shot down by one word answers. His mood was souring further the more his friend shrugged him off, and by the time he parked and got out he was peeved and frustrated. 

He stomped off in the direction of the trail head, Tubbo meandering along behind and staring at the ground. He heaved a loud and obvious sigh, hoping to provoke a reaction, but his friend didn’t look up. He planted his feet and turned around, putting his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

“What is up with you today? You’ve barely said a word to me!”

Tubbo stuck his hands in his pockets. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Long morning.”

“I just want to have a fun time with you, and you keep raining on the parade.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ll talk more. Can we just get going?” he implored with a pleading look in his eyes. Tommy backed down, taking a deep breath and trying to change his attitude. 

“Fine.”

The pair started down the dirt path, the chatter picking up a bit more as Tubbo started reciprocating. Once, Tubbo even let out a light chuckle, and Tommy smiled so widely in appreciation that he made a point to laugh more after that, trying to keep him in a good mood. 

After about an hour, they arrived at the halfway point, the top of a steep waterfall splashing down to a tumultuous pool at the bottom. The two of them shed their shoes and ventured up to the edge, splashing through the shallow water at the top and peering over the side. Tommy shouted down into the ravine, snickering at the distorted echo that bounced back. The woods around them were peaceful, even birdsong ceasing as the yell startled them. 

“A fall from this height would be fatal,” Tubbo observed. Tommy nodded in agreement, inching closer to the brink. He scooped up a pebble and tossed it over the side, listening to the plunks as it bounced its way down the rocks to the bottom. The current may not have been strong at this part of the river, but the drop was a hundred feet at least. 

“You might survive if you landed in the deepest part of the water,” he replied. 

“No, it’s too shallow. The momentum would kill you regardless. You would probably hit your head on the cliff on the way down anyways, and the water would not reduce your velocity enough to save you from the riverbed.” 

“You’ve put some thought into this, haven’t you?” he joked, looking over his shoulder. Tubbo was staring straight at him, face dead serious and suddenly a lot closer than he’d been a second ago. His own smile became strained, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. “What’re you doing?” he asked, warning in his tone.

“I want to see it again,” Tubbo whispered. 

“What?”

“I can’t forget them. It was riveting. So many layers and depths, spread out for the world to dissect. I’ve waited two years, I want to see it.”

Cagey, skittish anxiety thudded in Tommy’s head. He glanced over his shoulder at the fall behind him, panic building in his chest. The other teenager pressed in closer. 

“Get back!” 

Tubbo beamed, his face more radiant than it had ever been since that awful day. 

“Thank you for helping me,” he breathed, then pushed him off the side. 

It was pure instinct. Tommy screamed, arms flailing, and his fingers caught on the coarse fabric of a green button-down. He grabbed hold as he toppled over the cliff, trying to save himself, but the fabric ripped out of his fingers as he fell, the damage already done. Tubbo tumbled after him, gasping in terror as he plummeted through empty space, wind tearing through his clothes and hair. He could hear Tommy’s shrieks from below him, then a jutting stone caught him and he stopped thinking.

Tommy saw Tubbo’s head collide with the outcropping, crushing the back of his skull and bouncing him away like a ragdoll. He couldn’t stop screaming. The ground was rushing up to meet him, and all he could think was that he was about to die. He was dead. He was dead. He was dead.

He crashed into the river. Sickening crunching and cracking exploded in his ears, and he tore his throat raw with a scream of agony. But he was still alive. 

He had only a moment to process this fact before Tubbo’s slack form slammed into him from above, broken skull smashing into his stomach and limbs limp and bloodied. He could see the eyes of his former friend staring sightlessly at him, glazed over and dark, and his hair and face were positively drenched in blood that was soaking into both of their clothes as well. 

He couldn’t move, it was too painful. There was indescribable anguish pouring in from so many areas of his body that all he could do was lie there and cry, animalistic noises of pain escaping from his damaged vocal chords. There was a blurred white shape in his periphery, and he didn’t dare look over, sure that the bone in his arm was exposed to the air. His legs were broken in what must be dozens of pieces, piercing the skin and peppering his legs with pockets of exquisite agony. 

The water was dyed pink with blood as his strength continued to leach out into the river. He wished it were deep enough to close over his head and make the pain stop. 

He started feeling lightheaded, and his breaths were getting shorter. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his throat, speeding up as his body fought to keep oxygen flowing through his veins. 

His mind was fogging over, and the absurd desire to say goodbye floated through the last of his befuddled yet coherent thoughts. His unfocused gaze wandered down to the corpse of the friend that had betrayed him, who he’d pulled over the edge in an act of accidental revenge. Something about the insanity and ludicrousness of it all was hilarious, but laughing hurt too much, so he settled for a cracked grin. He wasn’t leaving this world alone. 

“Just killed a man, feeling good,” he sobbed, barely audible. There was a biting chill stealing through his shattered frame, and his vision was strewn with patches of dark and light, awareness ebbing away as his consciousness drifted down the stream. 

The birds were still silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not have been sorry last chapter, but I am a little bit now. I'd love to read comments with your thoughts, even if it's been a while since this was posted! :)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this to the end <3


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